


a day late and a dollar --

by niqaeli



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM pon farr, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, and uses AO3 tags like tumblr, i am apparently now the person who writes BDSMland AUs, i am at peace with who i have become, miswire, teen wolf is the rabbit hole that will eat your soul, this is entirely juls' fault, what is my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niqaeli/pseuds/niqaeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My idiot nephew has managed to hit breakpoint.  Your little friend is going to take one for the team.  And apparently he prefers not to have an audience."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a day late and a dollar --

**Author's Note:**

> Though this is not set in the same universe, as such, this story uses the same BDSM AU trope as [Submission Impossible](http://archiveofourown.org/works/447598) by [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/jmtorres/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/jmtorres/)**jmtorres**. It may or may not be of interest to you to read that story first.
> 
> This contains dubious consent, D/s themes, and other content some readers may find disturbing.

Derek collapsed after a fight with two of the Alphas from the Alpha Pack that had moved into town with a vengeance.

He had been pale and shaky, shivering the entire ride back to the Hale house but then all the wolves had taken damage from the Alphas -- a pair, a man and a woman, who'd moved in tandem, like nothing Stiles had ever seen before -- and no one was healing well from it. Stiles hadn't thought anything much of Derek's wounds, when Scott had been in the backseat trying to keep Isaac's innards inside Isaac while bleeding himself from the vicious claw marks in his forearm where he'd blocked a blow from the woman.

Isaac had, at least, healed over just enough that his guts were no longer in immediate danger of spilling out, when they got back to the Hale house; Peter was there already lurking beside Derek's Camaro that he had so thoughtfully driven back for Derek, silently watching as the four of them piled out of Stiles' baby with Scott carrying Isaac and Stiles carrying the backpack of medical supplies they had laid in with Ms. McCall and Deaton's advice.

Derek collapsed just inside the door. Scott was already inside busy with tending to Isaac and himself. Peter just stood there on the porch, with a contemplative expression, leaving Stiles to kneel by Derek's side and take his pulse against his neck. Derek had wounds across his back and shoulders, but nothing severe enough to explain his collapse.

Derek's pulse was thready and weak, his skin unnaturally cold against Stiles' fingers. But what caught Stiles was the soft moan as he twitched against Stiles' fingers.

"Holy fuck, Batman. Are you _serious_ ," Stiles said, because that hadn't been a moan of pain and there were very few explanations for why Derek would react like that. And none of them made any sense. "Are you _really_."

Derek opened his eyes slightly and growled softly.

"Okay, okay. When did you last submit?" Stiles asked. There was no other explanation that even began to explain to facts. Derek, a bio, a sub or a switch; either way, he was in the middle of hitting breakpoint from the sub side. The damage he'd taken from the Alphas must have set it off. Although -- Stiles couldn't even imagine who Derek _had_ been submitting to; couldn't picture him submitting to his uncle, and there was no one else that even seemed like a possibility.

"You," Derek said. "In the pool."

Stiles blinked away his astonishment, and filed that away to freak out over some other time when he didn't have someone near death in front of him. Derek hadn't really been the most cooperative, but maybe it made sense. "And before _that_?" Stiles asked, cupping his hand around Derek's neck, letting his thumb rest over Derek's pulse. It was nearly instinct, to provide that pressure and reassurance. To stave off the absolute worst.

Derek shivered under him, full-body racking shudders. "Laura. Made sure I was taken care of. After she died, got -- got the shit beaten out of me often enough," Derek said, in stops and starts. Well, that was horrifying but completely plausible. Except clearly he hadn't been getting the shit beaten out of him enough, lately.

"What do you need?" Stiles asked. There wasn't even a question that it was going to be Stiles; putting aside that comment about submitting to Stiles in the pool, there really was no one else. Stiles was the only person Derek could even consider, under the circumstances, not that he was in much shape to be considering anything.

"Couldn't -- " Derek said, shifting against Stiles's touch. "You couldn't beat me hard enough. Even if -- might not be able to take it, right now."

Stiles filed that entire statement away to freak out over another time, as well, and sighed to himself. "Right, then. Sex. Will that be enough?"

Derek didn't say anything, which Stiles took as a bad sign. He looked up, over at Scott, who had finished stitching Isaac up and was busy trying to clean out his own wounds. "Scott," Stiles said, wondering how much of the conversation Scott had paid attention to. "Tell me you still keep lube in your backpack?"

Scott shook his head, looking confused. "Crap. Okay, you and Isaac need to leave," Stiles said. "Creepy McCreeperson over there, too."

Scott looked at him strangely. "Why do we need to leave?" Scott asked, which answered the question of how much attention he'd been paying.

Peter chuckled from the doorway and answered Scott before Stiles could say anything. "My idiot nephew has managed to hit breakpoint. Your little friend is going to take one for the team. And apparently he prefers not to have an audience."

"Wait, breakpoint -- like --" Scott trailed off. "What do you mean, take one for the team?"

"Submissive breakpoint, he's a bio, I'm going to have sex with him, Scott, this is _really not the time for questions_ ," Stiles said, because Derek's eyes had drifted shut and that was not a good sign at all. "Just -- get the hell out of here, I don't even care."

Scott was saying something, but Stiles was ignoring him in favour of leaning over to Derek's ear. "Can you stand?" he asked Derek, because if the others weren't going to leave, he and Derek were. He really hadn't wanted to move Derek, but frankly he needed an audience for this even less.

Derek didn't open his eyes, but he did manage a weak growl. "Don't ask," Derek said. " _Tell me_."

"Fine," Stiles huffed, annoyed. It was actually somewhat bewildering Derek was managing to talk back, at this point, much less tell Stiles how to dom him. "Stand up, Derek."

Derek actually managed to stagger to his feet and they'd managed a few steps, when Scott grabbed Stiles's elbow. Without the forward momentum Derek went down again, taking Stiles with him. "You can't -- Stiles, this can't be safe," Scott said. "I'm not going to leave you alone with him."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock," Stiles said, getting his shoulder under Derek's arm. Unfortunately, Derek couldn't seem to get his feet under him again. "Breakpoint's not safe! Scott, I'm not going to let him die. And I'm not doing this with an audience."

Scott didn't let go until Stiles shook him off. Stiles looked down at Derek and sighed. "By the way, _this_ is why I asked if you could stand." Derek made a noise that sounded almost like a pained laugh as Stiles hoisted him into an awkward fireman's carry. It wasn't exactly dignified but Stiles could not think of any other way to move Derek without Derek helping, that wasn't just dragging him across the floor. Even if Stiles had the strength for it, a princess carry wouldn't have been much more dignified, anyway.

Scott trailed them all the way to the bedroom, which thankfully had a mattress. Stiles put Derek down as gently as he could, and turned around. "Scott. This, this could be _me_. Okay? I don't even care about my own issues, right now, so I really don’t care what your issues are, just -- get over them, and get out," Stiles said, wearily, and shut the door in Scott’s face.

"Sorry," Stiles said, after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Wh’for?” Derek said, practically incoherent and muffled by the mattress.

“Oh my god, really? Well, mostly the fact that you -- I know you don’t want to submit to me, I’m guessing you don’t want to submit to anyone or we wouldn’t even _be_ here. So, I’m sorry, I’m sorry you don’t have a choice, I’m sorry it’s me, I’m sorry that tonight has been an unending shitshow,” Stiles said, running a hand down Derek’s spine. Derek arched up into it, not saying anything. Stiles couldn’t figure out if that was good or not, considering that earlier Derek had been telling Stiles how to dom. A pretty fucked up sub, check. Not that Stiles could really judge.

Derek kept silent as Stiles stripped him as efficiently as he could. The wounds on his back really didn’t look good even if they weren’t anywhere near as bad as Isaac’s wounds had been, and Stiles found himself wishing he had the medical supplies right now. He’d have gone out and got them but he was afraid to leave Derek alone for even a few minutes. As it was, he stripped off his own relatively clean shirt and started cleaning up the worst of the blood -- it was still mostly wet, the wounds still bleeding sluggishly. By the time he’d gotten Derek’s back fairly clean, Derek’s healing had finally started to kick in even if it was running much slower than usual. But the bleeding had stopped, at least. “You’re healing faster than the others,” Stile said. “Is it ‘cause you’re an Alpha?”

Normally, Stiles wouldn’t have asked a sub in this position, at breakpoint, much of anything. Not that Stiles had a lot or, well, any experience with this himself but he’d done a lot of reading. But even if Derek didn’t or couldn’t answer, Stiles didn’t think Derek -- Derek wasn’t a typical sub, wasn’t apparently particularly okay with being a sub. Stiles thought Derek would probably prefer to be treated as being capable, even if it wasn’t actually true at the moment.

“Probably,” Derek said, surprisingly coherent.

“Probab-- you don’t _know_?” Stiles asked, startled. 

“Shouldn’t have been able to hurt me like that in the first place,” Derek said. “So, no. I don’t know.” Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, considering how terrifying it was that Derek was maybe as nearly as in the dark as the rest of them. Peter might have a better idea but Stiles was not enthused by the idea of talking to Peter about anything, ever.

Instead of saying anything, Stiles tossed his now bloodied and disgusting shirt aside, and started stripping the rest of his own clothes. Derek seemed to be doing better; he’d responded with nearly complete sentences and his back was definitely less of a horror show than it had been.

Spit wasn’t exactly ideal but it was what Stiles had, so he started prepping Derek with his fingers and tried not to think about the hygiene. Presumably Derek could survive anything and Stiles would just deal with anything he might pick up -- “Tell me lycanthropy’s not sexually transmissible,” Stiles said, before his brain-mouth filter could kick in.

Stiles felt Derek ripple underneath him, heard something that might have been a laugh. “Claws or teeth,” Derek said. “Or blood,” he added, after a moment.

“Blood,” Stiles said, flatly. He had just handled a fucking lot of Derek’s blood, had it on his hands, had it in _his mouth_ \-- he had faced down the possibility when Scott was first turned, had had occasional nightmares about if Peter had turned him anyway, had even thought fleetingly about asking Derek, but accidentally in the middle of cleaning Derek up to have sex with him was not exactly how he would have wanted it to go down.

“Blood-to-blood,” Derek clarified. “A lot.” That was -- something, anyway. Stiles didn't have any injuries, and could keep it that way.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” Stiles muttered, before pushing into Derek as slowly and gently as he could. He ended up urging Derek onto his knees; had to support Derek’s hips because Derek wasn’t in much shape to hold himself up. Stiles had to assume that sex with other people was usually more comfortable, or that at least usually there were more endorphins, because this was not an experience he really ever wanted to repeat.

It took a lot longer than Stiles might have thought between the discomfort and the fact that Derek was still kind of a mess to look at, but eventually the heat and the friction were enough for Stiles. Derek came as soon as Stiles touched him and collapsed back to the mattress, taking Stiles with him.

“Was that enough?” Stiles asked, leaving a hand against Derek’s neck after dislodging himself.

“For now,” Derek said sounding wrecked and miserable.

Stiles flinched a little, unable to stop himself. “How long, do you know?” he asked, regretting it immediately. It wasn’t fair, Derek obviously didn’t want to talk about it, had never wanted to talk about it; it wasn’t fair to ask him, right now.

Derek laughed brokenly. “A week, maybe,” he said, shifting against Stiles.

“We’ll figure something out,” Stiles found himself promising, pressing his hand against Derek’s neck. Even if it wasn’t his problem, even if Derek didn’t want him involved at all, now that he knew, he couldn’t let Derek go through this again. They’d -- they’d figure something out that _did_ work for Derek.

Derek made a soft, unhappy noise, before his breathing evened out into sleep. Stiles got to his feet and re-dressed himself, slowly, zipping his hoodie over his t-shirt to make up for the missing layer before going out to grab the medical supplies to clean Derek’s back and shoulder up a little more thoroughly. Derek shifted and whimpered in his sleep but didn’t wake up under Stiles’s ministrations. Stiles left the bag by the mattress before leaving.

He needed a shower and some ibuprofen and about three days to freak out in peace. Stiles figured he might be able to manage the first two, at least.


End file.
